


Holding Out for a Hero

by rizcriz



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: AU where everyone but todd's minds been wiped, Gen, M/M, Other, Post Season 3, quentin and eliot is eventual obv
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-18 17:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14218341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizcriz/pseuds/rizcriz
Summary: When Magic comes back, and a certain group of Magicians don't follow, Todd takes matters into his own hands.





	1. Prologue

##  _Prologue_

He knows the minute magic comes back. Feels it when the cancer returns. Scorching pain through his veins that leaves him lying on the kitchen floor, curled up in agony.

He’s not sure how long he lies there, before everything settles, and he falls asleep, too weak to get up or call for an ambulance. All he knows, is he wakes the next day, to the sun shining in through the kitchen window. He finds the strength to pull himself up on shaking legs, using the counters as leverage, and forces himself to the table, where his phone and wallet are.

First, he calls Quentin.

“ _We’re sorry, but the number you have dialed has been disconnected._ ” 

He pulls the phone away from his ear, hands trembling. Through bleary vision he checks to make sure he dialed the number correctly, and calls again.

“ _We’re sorry, but the number you have dialed has been disconnected._ ” 

His legs give out beneath him, and he crashes back to the floor, fist wrapped tight around the phone. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. He’s not sure what’s happening, but something’s wrong. Quentin would have been back by now. They both knew what magic coming back meant. They’d discussed it.

He should be back by now.

He opens his eyes, groaning as another round of pain shoots through him, and dials a different number instead.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” 

He opens his mouth to speak, but his tongue is too dry and heavy in his mouth, and next thing he knows, he’s falling to the ground, choking on air stuck in his lungs. The operator calls for his attention, but the phone falls out of his hand, and skids across the tile floor to settle under the table.

Just before everything goes dark, he swears he hears the front door open, tries to call out Quentin’s name, because it has to be his son. Who else could it be?

*

He wakes up in the hospital. The world is strange. He figures he must be on some kind of drugs to numb the pain. Or Quentin’s cast a spell. He frowns, furrowing his eyebrows; where is Quentin? He moves to sit up, but a hand comes to rest on his chest, and an unfamiliar voice speaks.

“No, Mr. Coldwater–you have to stay still.” 

Slowly, he turns to the voice, expecting it to be Quentin.

But it’s not.

He doesn’t even know who this is.

He’s about Quentin’s age. Dark hair. Wide eyed and innocent. Must be another Magician from Quentin’s magic school.

He smiles down at him.  “Hey, Mr. Coldwater.”

“Wha–who are you? Where’s my son?” 

The boy’s face falls. “I–I don’t know,” He admits, moving to pull a chair closer to the bed and sitting down. “I don’t know where any of them are. I mean. I knew Quentin wasn’t coming back, but none of them–”

“What do you mean you knew Quentin wasn’t coming back?” 

He flinches. “Right. Uh. I was–I was eavesdropping because they never really include me in anything. I mean, right now, I’m kind of grateful? Because they’ve all gone missing, and Dean Fogg is all ‘who are you talking about?’ and acting all suspicious–”

“Where’s my son?” 

“Right,” He points a finger, “Sorry. I get carried away sometimes. Uhm. Quentin sacrificed himself.” 

Heart dropping, he moves to sit up again, “Quentin’s dead?”

“No! I mean–maybe? i don’t. He wasn’t supposed to. He was just going to play eternal babysitter for some evil monster that’s not allowed to escape the castle he and the others were trying to break into.” 

“What?” 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. I mean. It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Who are you?” 

Fear morphs into carefully poised innocence, “Right. Sorry. Hi. I’m Todd.” He shrugs with a smile, and leans back in his chair. “When they didn’t come back, I kind of, maybe, went through their things? And Quentin had a letter addressed to you. And since nobody else was coming back, apparently, I decided to bring it to you. I think Eliot was originally supposed to bring it? Which, hello, we all knew there was no way he was leaving that castle without—“ He stops himself, offers an apologetic wave, “Sorry. I—“

“Eliot? Who—“

Todd’s eyes go wide and he huffs out a laugh, “That is a long story, man. Just—know that he’d never willingly let anything bad happen to Quentin. Neither would Margo. And neither of them are—they’re both bad asses who love Quentin.” His smile falls, slowly, “I don’t know where any of them are. And everyone else is pretending they’ve never even heard of them… I figured i’d do something to help. But when I got to your house, the door was unlocked, which, if I were you, I’d seriously invest in a good security system if you’re not going to lock your doors—“

“I’m dying.”

“Right, yeah. So you don’t really care about—sorry. I just saw you lying there, and I brought you here. You’ve been asleep ever since.” He leans forward, curious, “What does magical cancer feel like?”

“Shit.”

He nods. “That makes sense.” His gaze falls to his watch, and he blanches, before looking back up. “Look—I have to get back to Brakebills—“ so he  _is_  a Magician, “–because Dean Fogg and a few of the other teachers have been acting all suspicious, and I have to stay on the down low if i have any chance of finding the others.” He looks apologetic as he stands up, “But I’ll be back, alright? If Quentin can’t be here, somebody should.”

“You don’t have to—“

“If he doesn’t make it back in time, he shouldn’t have to know you were alone.”

He smiles, close lipped, and turns towards the door, before stopping and looking back. “Anything you want me to bring you?”

“A burger?” 

Todd grins, nodding emphatically, “Yo, I can do that. I’ve perfected a spell for those. And I’ll see what else I can find out.” And then, he's gone, hand stuffed into his jacket pockets. 


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little before his visit with Ted, and it’s time for Todd to realizing he’s gotta play hero.

**THEN**

“Dean Fogg—“

Dean Fogg looks up from his desk as Todd stops in the doorway. When had he regained his vision? Todd’s hands fall to his side from their place on the door frame as he cautiously steps into the room.

“What is it?”

His eyes dart around the room as he comes to a stop behind the chair opposite Dean Fogg. The globes are all lit up—almost like Magic hadn’t disappeared for close to a year, and come back for all of five seconds before becoming less than it had been before. They’re spinning and new lights appear in different cities all over the globes. Not for the first time, he wonders what his light looked like when it appeared.

“I Uh—“ he shakes his head and turns his attention back on the dean. “I just wanted to update you. Eliot and Margo and everyone. They still haven’t come back. I think somethings wrong.”

The dean tilts his head. “Who?”

Todd’s brow furrows. He knows all about the timelines. He knows everything. Dean Fogg May have been drunk and sour when he went over everything with him, but he can’t be so drunk that he’s forgotten telling him, let alone forgetting they exist. “Eliot... Waugh? Tall? Amazing magician with a really shitty track record in life? You and him share alcoholism as a favored hobby? And Margo? Easily the coolest, most commanding person I’ve ever met? And. Everyone else. Not Quentin, obviously.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh.” He moves around to sit in the chair, wringing his hands in front of him. “Well. Quentin made the decision to sacrifice himself for magic. I mean, I get Eliot wouldn’t come back, because, you know.” He nods more to himself, because any chance of separating those two again was so far out of the cards that Eliot was more likely to kill another god and blackmail the remaining gods into granting them eternity together, than letting Quentin sacrifice himself. “But Margo? I heard she’s King of Fillory—“

The dean stands up. “Todd. While your imagination is certainly... full. And creative. I really don’t have time for stories. I have a supply of magic I need to distribute. And a limited time to do so.”

“Right,” Todd says, nodding again, “That’s the other thing! I mean. With all the stuff they had to go through with that quest, it doesn’t make sense that magic would be so limited—“

“Todd,” The dean interrupts, “As I said. I do not have time for fables. If you wish to speak of Fillory, maybe join a book club. Talk to people who actually have no lives and care about it.” He waves a hand dismissively, “Preferably now.”

“But—“

“Leave or I will fire you.”

Todd stands up without another word and leaves the office. He heads back to the physical kids cottage. The whole way, there’s only one thing he can think: Somethings not right. Somethings so far from right, he’s worried his brain might burst. And as he pushes through the front door, his feet lead him up the stairs to Quentin’s old room.

He’s not sure what he expects when he opens the door, but somehow it isn’t for everything to be as it was the day before when they all left. Disarray. Books scattered across the bed and the blanket tossed carelessly on the ground. For someone with as much anxiety as Quentin has, Todd honestly expects better from him. He enters the room and closes the door behind him quietly. Quentin’s the only one with a permanent place in the cottage anymore. His room is the only one that should have any answers.

He picks up one of the books on the bed, flips through the pages and an envelope falls to the the bed with soft crunch as the corner bends. On the face of the envelope, he reads, “Ted Coldwater,” and nods to himself. “This is the letter Quentin wanted Eliot to give him,” he murmurs, before stuffing it in his pocket and looking around the room.

Before he leaves, he grabs a handful of books that look important, a few photos, and a notebook that looks suspiciously like a diary. Somethings happening, and he’d definitely made a mistake in going to the dean. He’s look back once more when he gets to the door, arms full. He’s not sure why, but he’s almost certain none of what remains will be there the next time he returns.

Just as he reaches for the door, he spots a battered copy of Fillory and Further on Quentin’s nightstand. “Hello,” he says, crossing the small distance to grab it and precariously balance it atop everything else, “Probably important. Or, at the very least, one of them will kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

He takes everything to his room, and hides it in a hidden compartment in his dresser.

What? Josh made it for him when he’d actually been paranoid about getting caught with things he shouldn’t have.

Now it’s just useful. As he leaves his room, the door cracked behind him, he spots two strangers entering Quentin’s room and thinks, maybe, for once, he’d actually done the right thing.

 

  
**NOW**

 

  
He returns from the hospital to find the entirety of Brakebills in the quad, with Dean Fogg and an unfamiliar woman, standing on a platform. It must be the assembly. And it looks like he’s not just late—he’s completely missed the whole thing, because his classmates are already starting to disperse.

Oops.

He catches sight of one of his fellow physical kids and runs to catch up to her. “Celeste!” He exclaims, grinning as she comes to a stop and looks at him curiously. “Hey! Did I miss anything important?”

She tilts her head, eyebrows furrowing. “I... don’t think so. I hardly remember it at all.”

“But... everyone—“

“Come on,” She interrupts, grabbing him by the wrist, and tugging him towards the “Who cares about the assembly? Magic’s back, Todd! Let’s go learn it properly again.”

He lets her drag him along.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck?

Look. He’s the first to admit he’s not the most observant guy in the world. Obviously he’s developed the knack of paying attention without being noticed. But that’s only on purpose and around very specific, always up to something, interesting people. People he wants to be friends with, so he knows when to be useful. But, there’s a tingling at the back of his head that says he should be very, very thankful that he’d missed the assembly, and he’s not quite sure why.

Other than the slightly dazed look on everyone’s faces. He looks over his shoulder, catches sight of the dean staring directly at him, and takes a deep, only slightly panicked breath.

It’s going to be fine.

He can pretend to be dumb. Dazed and confused? Man, that’s practically his default state. And everyone thinks he’s dumb as it is.

So whatever he knows that he shouldn’t know, he can play like he doesn’t know.

But he should probably figure out what exactly he knows that he shouldn’t know. Because he definitely doesn’t know what he knows that the world thinks he doesn’t know.

Fuck, he’s confusing himself.

“Todd!” Celeste snaps her fingers in front of his face, her thumb nail scraping against the tip of his nose. “ _Hello_! I asked if you’re excited about being able to do magic again.”

He blinks, reaching up to rub at the place shed scratched as he watches her watching him. Celeste knows everyone and everything, too. Vaguely. Most of her knowledge is just her telling him he tries too hard to get their attention, and that he’s wasting his time trying to be friends with people that don’t want anything to do with him. But she knows.

“I mean, we knew magic was coming back. Eliot and Quentin and Margo and everyone have been working on it for months?” She tilts her head, making a face. God, he knew she didn’t like them, but she’d never been so outright about it. “The quest. I know you don’t like them but...” he trails off, because it’s starting to click that this is not a look of distaste.

“Todd,” she says, clamping one hand on his shoulder, “Wishing you’d been a part of bringing magic back is natural, but come on. Making up an elaborate story? I love you, but you are not creative enough for something like that.”

“No,” he shakes his head, shrugging or of her grip and stepping away from her. “No, Celeste. Remember? I told you. Quentin told them he was going to sacrifice himself and—“

She laughs, “Todd, you sound ridiculous. There’s nobody named Quentin at this school!”

“Quentin. Coldwater? You _know_ him!”

Oh shit. Oh holy fucking shit. Dean Fogg wasn’t pretending. He really didn’t know who they were. Holy shit. What the fuck is even happening? For real? He knew something was up but—

“Never heard of him, hon.”

—he’s so out of his depth, Jesus Christ.

He stares at her for another moment before remembering the people entering Quentin’s room the day before, and takes a step backwards. “You know,” he says, heart suddenly pounding in his chest, “I—I think. I’m gonna take a day. And then tomorrow I’ll get to that hardcore magic learning.” Before she can reply, he nods to himself, turns on his heel and starts running towards the physical kids cottage.

He shouldn’t be surprised that the room is empty when he gets there. He’d had the very thought that this would happen, though he’d been unsure of the time. He’d taken things from it just in case this exact thing happened.

But somehow, standing here, in the open doorway, staring at a pristine room, and remembering the mess that had been in its place yesterday, is more surprising than anything else that’s happened. Dean Fogg not remembering felt like the usual ‘not up for your nonsense, Todd’ Dean Fogg kind of thing. And going to check on Quentin’s dad just felt like the right thing to do.

Missing the assembly had just been bad timing on his part. He’s never been particularly punctual. But had it been _luck_ this time? Maybe. Everyone’s lucky at least once in their life, right? 

He backs up until his back hits the wall opposite the door, and slides down, his hands coming up to rub over his face, stopping at his temples, almost pulling at the skin as the tips of his fingers dig into his scalp.

Maybe the teachers weren’t acting suspicious after all. Maybe they were all like Dean Fogg. Nobody’s pretending not to know. He might be the only person that remembers them. What they did. And, holy shit, they’re in danger, aren’t they? Why else would whoever is doing this wipe everyone’s memories? Why would they get rid of everything?

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall.

Quentin’s dad remembers, though. But he’s not going to—oh, fuck.

His eyes snap open as he gazes back into the empty room. Glares down at the spot in the center of the room the sun is shining on.

Somebody _did_ this. Magic didn’t just erase them. They didn’t all sacrifice themselves to the gods or whatever to bring magic back. If so, he wouldn’t have been able to escape whatever blast or spell that erased everyone’s minds. And magic doesn’t come in the form of two assholes stealing all of a really cool, really sad dudes things.

And magic would have had at least had the decency to erase Quentin from his dads memory. Okay maybe not. Magic has a tendency to be dickish. But, come on. Conveniently forgetting the dying parent of the missing grad student? Not the kind of rookie mistake gods would make. 

He’s going to figure it out. Whatever happened to them. Why magic is so weird now. How everyone’s just forgotten them. He’s certainly not their _first_ choice of backup, or even tenth in line if he’s being honest. But, he’s all they’ve got. Hell, he’s all _he’s_ got. He has no idea where they are, what happened, why it happened, or how it happened.

But he eavesdropped on enough conversations to know how the quest went. And where they were last.

He pushes up from the floor, sliding up the wall, and turning towards his room.

First things first.

Figure out how the fuck to get to Fillory.

Wait, no.

First things first: Get Ted Coldwater the best fucking burger in New York because that’s the only way he’s going to be able to swallow the news that his son is at the center of a conspiracy, and may or may not actually exist anymore. 

Maybe get one for himself, too. Because saving his non-friend friends is going to work up an appetite.  

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really like Todd, and want him to be a part of the group, so if I have to make up a world of my own where he saves everyone and is finally a part of the group, then god damn it, I will.


End file.
